Renee Ryan (2 page)

Mattie blinked up at him. “She isn’t here.”

“Where is she?”

“Charity House.”

Sudden, unexpected relief buckled his knees. He had to reach out to steady himself on a nearby chair. Hunter knew all about Charity House, the orphanage Marc and Laney Dupree had created for the abandoned boys and girls no other institution would touch. Because of the Duprees’ noble efforts, children of prostitutes were welcomed into a loving, safe home without question. And given a solid, Christian upbringing.

Some of the bitterness Hunter had harbored toward his first wife released its brutal hold on his heart. Maria might have left Hunter for her former life and died less than a year later. She might have kept the knowledge of his child from him. But she’d had the sense to provide a good, Christian home for Sarah at Charity House.

He should be grateful.

And he was, on one level. But he was also confused. Why was Mattie Silks involving herself in the matter?

Surely not out of the goodness of her heart. Mattie had always hated Maria. That much Hunter remembered. As the illegitimate daughter of Mattie’s bitter rival and the outlaw she’d once considered her man, Maria had been a physical reminder of Mattie’s folly. Of the madam’s mistaken belief she’d found a man to take her away from this life.

“What could you possibly hope to gain by telling me about the child?” he wondered aloud.

But deep down he knew. The situation just turned a lot more complicated.

“Now, Hunter, darling, I’m a traditional woman at heart.”

“Of course you are.”

“Don’t be snide.” She brushed aside his sarcasm with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I believe families should be together whenever possible.”

“Except when it comes to your own.”

Her gaze narrowed to two mean slits.

Hunter remained unmoved. “Don’t forget, Mattie. I know your secret.”

“You have no right to pass judgment on me.”

No, he didn’t. His list of past sins was a long one. “You’re right.” He inclined his head. “Forgive me.”

“Yes, yes. Now, where were we?” Not quite meeting his gaze, she redirected the conversation back on its original course. “Maria was wrong to keep your own child a secret from you. She should never have—”

The door swung open with a loud bang, sufficiently cutting off the rest of her little speech.

“How could you, Mattie? This time you’ve gone too far.” A whirlwind of tangled skirts and angry female rushed into the room. “You have no right to interfere in my life, or in Sar—

“Oh.” The woman’s pursuit ground to a halt. “I didn’t realize you were...entertaining.” Her gaze settled on Hunter for a fraction of a second, swept past him, then returned with lightning speed, widening in shocked recognition.

His sentiments exactly.

Feeling as if he’d just been smacked in the head with a board, Hunter fell back a step. Beneath his skin, his muscles twitched and tightened.

Memories took hold, memories of another woman with the same startling blue eyes, the same Mexican heritage.

But this wasn’t Maria blinking up at him in obvious shock. This had to be her half sister, Annabeth. The last time he’d seen her had been at Maria’s funeral. But she was a woman now, no longer a girl.

Pieces fell into place in his mind.

Mattie’s unusually timed letter. Her interference in a matter that had nothing to do with her.

Except, it did have to do with her. Indirectly, at least.

“You...” Long, silky eyelashes fluttered rapidly as Annabeth’s small, plump mouth tightened. “I thought you were in prison.”

“I served my time.”

The initial shock in her pale blue eyes turned to something else, something resembling alarm. Tinged with fear.

More pieces fell into place.

“I...don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice cracking over the words, her gaze chasing around the room.

“
Good evening, Hunter
would be a nice place to start.”

“Yes, of course.” She twisted her hands together in front of her waist. “I... Good evening, Hunter.”

“Good evening, Annabeth. Or would you prefer a more formal address? Perhaps I should call you...” He paused, making sure he had both women’s attention before continuing. “Miss Silks.”

Chapter Two

M
iss Silks.

Miss. Silks.
Two simple words, spoken in that gravelly, deliberate tone and the carefully constructed life Annabeth had provided for Sarah and herself imploded. All because Hunter Mitchell knew her name. Her real name.

He knew she was Mattie’s daughter.

An avalanche of emotion crowded inside her. She could hardly breathe, could hardly make sense of the moment.

She wanted to pray—
needed to pray—
but the words refused to form in her mind.

Shivering, Annabeth lowered her gaze and stared at her entwined fingers.

She shouldn’t have come here tonight, shouldn’t have risked being seen in her mother’s brothel at such an hour. She’d made a mistake that could ruin everything.

If a man recently out of prison knew about her connection to Mattie, it was only a matter of time before the rest of Denver discovered the truth. Everything would change then, just as it had a year ago, when Annabeth had been released from her position at Miss Lindsey’s Select School for Girls.

The good people of Denver would know her private shame. Then what? No godly, moral man would want Annabeth as his wife, not when her mother was the most celebrated madam in town. She didn’t care so much for herself; she’d given up hope for a respectable marriage at this point in her life. But Sarah. Poor, dear, beautiful Sarah.

“You may call me Annabeth.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “Annabeth Smith.”

“Smith.” The silky, ironic tone had a dangerous note underneath. “Not very inventive.”

Annabeth stared straight into Hunter’s glittering eyes. His expression had grown fierce, ruthless even. A man on a mission, determined to get answers by any means necessary.

She forced herself to think fast, to sort through every possible solution to the threat he presented to her and the child she loved as her own.

What if he wanted to take Sarah away?

A chill ran up her spine.

There had to be a way to forestall the inevitable. But Annabeth couldn’t make her mind work properly, not with Hunter’s gaze locked so securely with hers, waiting, measuring, gauging her every reaction.

He stood over six feet, all broad-shouldered and lean-hipped. And those eyes. Piercing, intense, full of suspicion.

His lips curved at an ironic angle. “Finished with your inspection?”

“I...” She jerked her chin at him. “Almost.”

For a split second, humor filled his gaze. Then he gave her a slow, mocking perusal of his own. “You are looking well, Miss...Smith.”

He was intentionally trying to throw her off balance. Sadly, he was succeeding.

If only he wasn’t so handsome, so masculine, so rugged, so...so...
handsome.

“Thank you, Hunter.” She resisted touching her hair, smoothing down the riot of curls she’d not bothered to tame before leaving Charity House. Another mistake on her part. Her desperation had made her careless. All she could do now was grasp for some semblance of control. “You, too, are looking well.”

His big shoulders shifted, flexed and then went still. Dangerously still. She should take care. She knew what Hunter Mitchell was capable of doing when pushed. If even half the stories were to be believed, the man was deadly. Yet beneath the day-old stubble, his chiseled features looked entirely too wholesome for a man who had spent two years in prison for manslaughter.

Could he be trusted?

Was his life of sin behind him?

So many unknowns. Too many to allow her guard to slip.

Why, oh why, had Mattie followed through with her threat to contact him? Why had she ignored Annabeth’s pleas to stay out of the matter?

Her mother would answer for her interference. Later.

For now, Annabeth had a very determined man to appease. No matter what happened next, he could not be allowed to take Sarah away with him.

He’s her father.
The thought whispered through Annabeth’s head, filling her with renewed guilt. She’d come here tonight determined to do whatever it took to hide his child from him.

What did that say about her?

That she was cautious? Protective? Or simply selfish?

Silence grew thick in the room, making the air feel heavy, stifling. Even Mattie seemed to be rendered momentarily speechless, her gaze darting between Annabeth and Hunter.

More seconds ticked by. And still, Annabeth couldn’t stop looking into Hunter’s mesmerizing eyes. The impact of all that concentration directed solely on her was like a physical blow. And not entirely unpleasant.

For a brief moment, he looked as agonized as she felt. She wanted to soothe his anguish, to offer him comfort, to—

What was wrong with her?

Hunter was an unsafe man, one who knew her secret.

He could ruin everything she’d built in the past year.

“It’s been a while since we last met,” he said, breaking the silence with his deep, velvety voice.

She nodded. “At least eight years.”

Mattie sprang back to attention, snapping her head from one to the other. “You two have met before?”

“Yes, Mattie.” A slow smile spread across Hunter’s mouth, making him far too appealing. “I am acquainted with your daughter.”

“But...” Mattie released a hiss, the sound equal parts hostility and warning. “That’s impossible.”

Annabeth understood her mother’s shock. Through the years, Mattie had shielded her from men like Hunter.

“How...how did you two meet?” Mattie didn’t bother hiding her horror at such a prospect, or her outrage. “Where? When? I demand to know every detail.”

A sigh leaked out of Annabeth. “Does it matter now?”

“Yes.” That one word, spoken through clenched teeth, said so much. “It matters a great deal, Annabeth.”

She supposed so, at least from Mattie’s perspective. Her mother had worked very hard to protect Annabeth, sending her far away to school where she could learn the precepts of Christian charity and proper behavior. No drinking allowed. No gambling. And definitely no friendly acquaintances with gunslingers recently released from prison.

Bad character corrupts good morals.

A noble ideal, to be sure, straight from the Bible.

But life at Miss Lindsey’s had proved just as hazardous as the one Annabeth would have had in Denver, the people just as unforgiving once the truth had come out about her mother. She’d been guilty by association. Her dream of respectability gone, gone, gone. Her reputation not quite in tatters, but close enough to warrant leaving Boston for good.

“Annabeth.” Mattie crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “I am waiting for an answer. Where did you meet this man?”

Despite the tension of the moment, Annabeth had to fight back a smile. Now he was
this man.

Oh, the irony. Hunter Mitchell wouldn’t even be in this room if Mattie hadn’t contacted him.

Annabeth cast a quick glance in his direction. The expression in his eyes was kind now, encouraging, reminding her of the first time they’d met. She’d been more than a little dazzled by the attractive, broad-shouldered rancher her sister had married so impetuously. He’d been twenty-one at the time, more man than boy, full of charm and humor and determined to save Maria from herself.

Much had changed since then. Everything had changed.

“Annabeth. Stop staring at the man this very instant, and answer my question.”

She sighed again. “We’ve met twice before tonight. The first time, a few days after he married Maria.” He’d taken them shopping and had been so patient, so generous, even to her. “We met again at Maria’s funeral.”

“Her funeral?” Mattie’s stunned expression precipitated her sinking into a nearby chair. “I forbade you to go.”

Annabeth remembered the day well. She’d been fifteen at the time, home from school on holiday, and saddened over her sister’s death, a sister she’d hardly known, who’d been born the daughter of Mattie’s bitter rival, Emma Bradley. Her mother had been adamant Annabeth stay away from the funeral.

She’d gone, anyway.

“Maria deserved to have family present.”

She’d been glad she’d gone, too. Only one other person had attended the funeral besides Annabeth. Maria’s estranged husband, Hunter.

“Family?” Mattie spat out the word in derision. “She was that horrible woman’s daughter.”

“She was my sister.”

“Your half sister. She had no relation to me.”

“Regardless, Maria was always good to
me,
” Annabeth defended. “She was my blood kin. I loved her and she loved me.” Turning to look at Hunter, she added, “She loved you, too.”

He showed no reaction to the declaration, other than a careful narrowing of his eyes. “Did you know about the child when we met at the funeral?”

The question brought them back to the real issue at hand. Hunter might have been kind to her, once, long ago, when they were both much younger. But she knew what sort of man he’d become since then. Lawless, tough, a member of a ruthless gang.

Tread carefully, Annabeth.

“No, I didn’t know about Sarah at the time,” she answered truthfully. “Maria kept her existence a secret from me, too.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

So had Annabeth. She’d been terribly hurt when she’d discovered the truth. But that hadn’t stopped her from building a life with Sarah once she’d discovered her niece’s existence. A safe, respectable existence now threatened by this man’s inopportune arrival.

How had matters gotten so quickly out of hand?

“Who knows what was in Maria’s head at the time of her death.” Annabeth closed her eyes against the image of the last time she’d seen her sister alive. Her beauty gone, the sunken cheeks and eyes, the despair. “She was sick, Hunter, and delirious most of the time in her final days.”

“Yet she was lucid enough to send the child to Charity House instead of telling me about her.” Hunter’s voice cut through the room like a dagger. “I wonder why.”

Didn’t he know? “She was protecting Sarah, from you.”

“From me.” He spoke softly, his amber eyes lit with raw emotion.

“By the time she became ill you weren’t exactly a model of good behavior.”

“True.”

Annabeth sighed at the regret in his voice, and the remorse. Such remorse. Had he changed?

Dare she hope?

“I understand why Maria didn’t tell me about the child, but why didn’t she tell you?”

Annabeth lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps she was protecting Sarah from me, too.”

“You? No.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”

“What could I have done for her at the time? I was a child myself, spoiled and selfish and—”

“I don’t remember you that way.”

He didn’t? How did he remember her? Had he thought of her through the years like she’d thought of him? Did he...

No. Oh, no. She could not let down her guard like this. “I was certainly too young to raise a child by myself.”

“Perhaps.” He fell silent then.

So did Annabeth.

Mattie eyed them both, gave a little sigh, then entered the conversational void with gusto. “Hunter, you must know it’s not too late to change the situation. You can retrieve your daughter from Charity House and start fresh. You can—”

He raised a hand to silence her. “Stay out of this, Mattie.”

She scowled. “I’m only trying to help.”

“Yes, yes.” He tossed a dismissive flick of his fingers in her direction. “Now hush. I need a moment to think.”

“Of course.” Mattie pressed her lips tightly together and, surprisingly, didn’t speak again.

The groove between Hunter’s eyes dug deep, his mind clearly working through the various revelations of the past few moments.

Maybe, when he thought the matter through to the end, he wouldn’t want the responsibility of a child.

Oh, Lord, please. Let him walk away tonight.

Spearing his fingers through his hair, Hunter paced the room with hard, clipped steps. Back and forth he went, moving with the lethal grace of a large, menacing cat. Every few steps his hands clenched into fists, as though he were trying to control his pent-up emotions.

Understandable.

While he continued walking off his thoughts, Annabeth followed his progress with her eyes.

He’d changed since she’d seen him last and none of the changes were for the worse. His lean, long-legged body had filled out with the muscles of a man used to physical labor. His skin was a little weathered, and his hair had darkened to a rich, sandy-blond, the tips burnished by the sun.

He was dressed in stark black from head to toe. And even without a pair of six-shooters strapped to his hips, he had the swagger of a gunslinger. His square jaw, defined features and the shadow of a beard made him look threatening.

A formidable foe under any circumstance.

Her rebel heart found that bit of insight beyond exciting. Not that she’d actually
choose
to pursue a relationship with a man like him, but she could certainly allow her mind to...wonder. Perhaps she had a little more of her mother in her than she cared to admit.

A hideous discovery that couldn’t possibly be true.

Unused to giving up control of a situation for long, Mattie rose from her chair and stepped into Hunter’s direct path. “Yes, well, facts are facts. You have a daughter. You must take on the responsibility of raising her and—”

“No.” Annabeth rushed forward, moving in front of her mother, fighting desperately for the right words to steer Hunter away from what Mattie suggested. “You can’t just show up and claim Sarah as your child. She doesn’t even know you.”

“An oversight I plan to rectify immediately.”

“But—”
Think, Annabeth, think.
“She’s happy at Charity House. It’s the only home she’s ever known. She has friends there, people who love her, people who care for her.”

“People like you?”

“Yes. People like me. Please, Hunter.” She reached for his arm, then pulled her hand back before making contact. “Think this through. Now is not the time for hasty decisions.”

“No. It’s not.” He looked torn, confused and maybe—dare she hope?—ready to concede.